Finally, the rain.jpg

It's been so hot and muggy. I've been waiting for the clouds to crack, and they've done so in a huge way today. Ahhhhhh.
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I love my dogs.

Admitting you had a problem is the first step

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I are a flower gardener!

My attempts at growing vegetables last year met with a long, drawn out, and dry end. My attention span for gardening is finite, apparently, unless the fruits of my labor are nearly immediate. So this year I chose flowers and stuck mainly to putting annuals in pots, with a few exceptions.  Here are my victims this year.

Petunias and some other cute little purple flower.  (see how botanical I get?) They really would like more sun than they get, no thanks to the 100 year old tree in my yard, but so far so good.

A geranium which looked so happy at the greenhouse.  It looks much less happy now that I brought it home and repotted it.  I had it out in the only sunny spot in my yard, but I think it didn't like it there.  It now resides on the porch on an old metal stool.  I think it complements the asbestos siding of the house quite nicely.

"Scarlet begonias tucked into her curls"  Ok, sorry about the random Grateful Dead reference there.  These are my happy begonias.  I have three different planters of them since begonias have proven themselves to be tolerant of the amount of shade my yard gets and the amount of neglect my plants get. I love them.

The "rose garden".  I like roses and I decided to give this patch of dirt over to them more permanently.  The one on the left is called a Marilyn Monroe.  I thought about getting the big white showy JFK rose to put next to it, but I resisted and so the one on the right is called a Remember Me.  Neither name has much significance to me, I just liked the colors.

 Marilyn Monroe

Remember Me

And not to be outdone this year, the little climbing rose that has been here since I bought the house is blooming up a storm.  You can also see the foliage of the random bush that I want to tear out this fall to its right and the "annual shade loving" plants that I put in a few years back that are going strong.

Next year I really would like to tear out all of the Oregon Grape that lives along the side of my house and replace it with grapes.  Regular grapes.  We'll see.  That's a lot of commitment and a long time to wait for the fruits of my labor. 

Traffic Idiots

Does anyone else notice that if you have to dodge one idiot while navigating the streets of Klamath Falls you will invariably have to dodge two more before you get home?  What is it about the traffic wackos coming out in droves? Do they take certain days off and then head out together when they are back on the job?

Case in point: Today I was pulling up to a stoplight on a oneway street that crosses another one way street.  There is a bank on the corner. Rather than go around the block, some genius decided that it would be perfectly acceptable to turn onto my one way street and travel the wrong direction for 40 or so feet to turn into the bank.  Never mind the frightened people in the lane he squeezed out.  Never mind traffic laws.  He had to get to the bank!  I wonder if he realized he had missed the turn in from his street and was in a panic, was lost and didn't realize that 6th is one-way, or simply didn't care.  I think it was the latter, as he very carefully navigated between the lane of cars and the curb. Generally, people who realize they have erroneously turned onto a one way street have a much more panic stricken look on their faces.  For a few minutes I was amazed at this person but soon I was distracted.

Not two minutes later, as I turned onto yet another one way street, I came face to face with an approaching forklift in my lane.  FORKLIFT! Figuring discretion trumps right of way or legality, I moved over.  The man gave me a jaunty wave as he rode by, grinning from ear to ear.  I'd like to know if he realized he was on a one-way street or if he felt that he could do whatever the hell he pleased because he had huge prongs sticking off the front of his vehicle. Again, I feel it was the latter.

And finally, later today I was toodling along on another one way street, minding my own business, going the speed limit, when a small pickup zipped past me on the right and then cut in front of me.  This is not uncommon on this street as there is a "left turn only" lane and sometimes people forget that they have to get over to make the turn, so I figured he was in a godawful hurry and also was forgetful.  Then we turned the corner and he immediately pulled into a parking space.  I had to restrain myself from yelling out the window or otherwise signalling my displeasure.  Whew, I'm so glad he managed to get that parking spot in time!  There were only four others on the same street and it was touch and go whether he'd have to walk an extra 30 feet to his destination!  Or maybe a bee had flown in his window and stung him in a delicate place and he had to find the quickest way to the curb.  I hope it was the latter.

I need a drink.  And I need to leave my pickup in my driveway more often.  I didn't have any of this aggravation yesterday or the day before when I didn't drive anywhere.  And no, I didn't go to the grocery store today.  :)

Shopping the big city/little village way

I've decided that it is fairly pathetic to drive the six blocks to the local grocery store for a bag of grub. When I get in there I always find things I'm pretty sure I need (Ben and Jerry's Key Lime Pie flavor? Limited batch? OH MY GOD I HAVE TO STOCK UP!) And then I end up lugging out three bags and an eight pack of toilet paper.

I've ingested enough television and read enough books to realize that people in big cities, New York say, often don't have cars. No cars! While that in itself is staggering enough, it results in people shopping at a local market and only buying as much as they can carry home. Likewise, it appears that people in Europe venture forth several times a week to the markets for small and toteable amounts of groceries. Why can't I do that? Granted, I may get odd looks from the neighbors after they catch on to my routine, but I doubt they'll label me a pinko for it.

So today was the first attempt. I boldly set out with my one reusable shopping bag and a goal. I would buy a few ears of corn, two zucchini, some sort of bread item for breakfast, and maybe some angel food cake since I'd been hallucinating the smell for a few hours. I threw my wallet in the bag, took the house key off of the pickup keys (no tempting fate for me!) and sallied forth.

The walk to the grocery store is pleasant enough. It's summer and there are lots of flowers to look at. I did hear my name once as I walked past some teenagers (there is no escape from students, even in summer) but I managed to avoid mishaps or long conversations. I got to the local store, which most of my circle of friends call Ghetto Safeway, and smugly strolled in with my one bag and my plan.

The goal of only a few items immediately was shot down by the smell of strawberries. I'm a very smell-oriented person. I once dumped a guy because he smelled like old people. It could be this is why I'm single. But I digress. The strawberries led to cherries and from there it was a quick slide to french bread, butter, and aluminum foil. I did get corn (5 ears, curse you ghetto safeway sale!) and zukes but I decided to reprimand myself and leave the angel food cake on the shelf.

With my now uncomfortably full bag threatening to separate my left shoulder, I turned towards home. What seemed a gradual sloping walk to the store now revealed itself as a six block walk uphill. Some positive self-talk was in order. "Ok, don't go at this like you're killing snakes. This is supposed to be a nice walk. Pace yourself!" Before long the heat and the french bread whacking me with each step were getting a little oppressive. I also was hoping not to need defibrillation only two blocks from my house. Have I mentioned that it has been a long while since the good people at the Y have seen me in the gym?

Luckily, I made it home. As I walked up my driveway my dogs barked as if I was an intruder wearing a mailman's uniform. It may take a while for all of us to get used to the new routine.
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The Long Drive Home (a long time ago at this point)

I realized after a week of sleeping on the ground with only a few cushions from an old motor home under me (air mattresses have a short half-life with my dogs around) that I was missing my bed.  I also was a bit tired of tearing down camp, carefully repacking the pickup, and unpacking it again only to set up the tent.  Again. Apparently I hit my wall of tolerance for mobile tent camping at one week.  These people with RV's might be onto something.

At any rate, the dogs and I woke up at 5:30am on the morning of our last day at Baker Creek and I decided that I would rather break camp and get breakfast on the road somewhere than fire up the stove to make coffee.  An hour later we were rolling down and out of Great Basin National Park.  The morning held promise and the scenery was gorgeous, as usual.

We got to Ely and I was reminded of my loathing for the town.  Now, I don't know what might have initiated my overall distaste for Ely from childhood trips through Nevada, but the failure to find a diner where I could get a cup of coffee without having to wade through smoke and slot machines cemented it in the "I will never stop here again if I can help it" category as an adult.  It could be that my short temper was due to the lack of caffeine, but it was only 7:30 in the morning and I usually don't turn into a raging wench on a caffeine jones until at least 9:30am.  After leaving one spot where I watched a "waitress" who more closely resembled a "stand and talkress" I finally had to give in to McDonalds for my fix.  Off we roared, west onto Highway 50.

Highway 50 has a reputation and even glorifies itself as the lonliest highway in America.  Really?  Is it any more lonely than 395 between Valley Falls and Wagontire?  Or any of the number of highways elsewhere in Nevada, for that matter?  I found it enjoyable to cruise along at 75 mph (bless you, Nevada speed laws) without the worry of traffic or police.  Once the caffeine kicked in I was even feeling civil and gave these weary souls a honk and wave as I blew by.  Some waved back, others not so much. 

Early in the planning stages of this trip I had chosen Hickison Petroglyph area as a potential spot to camp, and even though it was only 10:30 or so in the morning when we got there, I was still willing to give it a look.  The "no water" sign didn't scare me, as I was packing 15 gallons thanks to some pilfered spring water bottles from work and a nicer one from Grandad.  We pulled in and surveyed the campground, found it to be a little scary in view of being the only person there besides a very friendly fellow who waved like a crazed man when I drove by, and decided to just look at the petroglyphs instead.  I found a shady spot in the day use area to park, opened the door to the pickup, and within 60 seconds was swatting madly at my neck.  I swear that a legion of no-seeums and mosquitos shrieked "BLOOD!" when I presented the dogs and myself as victims.  With a frenzy of determination, I urged the dogs out into the sun and onto the interpretive path.  The self-guided tour pamphlets were all gone from the trailhead, so I had no idea what I was looking at whenever we got to a post with a number on it facing a rock.  There were a few petroglyphs, but nothing better than can be found east of Lakeview. I figure this is probably because of Hickison's proximity to a highway and the fact that it is marked on a nationally published map.  Any old vandal can stop and scratch new graffiti on top of the archaic graffiti.  Kinda sad, really, but here's what I had the patience to see and determine as the best of the bunch.

After Hickison, I really was in no mood to stop, so we breezed down through Austin and headed north to Battle Mountain in order to make a quick shot towards Winnemucca.  The day was beautiful and even though the chances of finding a camping spot were decreasing exponentially with my mood and the hour of the day, I did at least appreciate some of the views.

Once we left Winnemucca it looked as though Lakeview was going to be the next "camping" spot for the night.  I figured that if Mom and Dad weren't home that at least I could throw down the tent on the back lawn and fight mosquitos there as easily as anywhere else.  However, once we made it to Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge, my mood had again lifted (this day was a rollercoaster of negativity followed by gazing happily out the window) and I decided to drive at least part way in to see if there was a place to camp.  I didn't want to camp at Virgin Valley with the opal mining crowd, so we took a dirt road and headed for some primitive spots marked on the map.  Gooch Springs sounded interesting, but turned out to be in a direction I didn't want to go, so we forged ahead. When I turned off the pickup to let the dogs run, it was absolutely gloriously silent up on top of Sheldon and once I again I thought that I could face setting up the tent.  After marvelling at all of the obsidian nodules on Horse Heaven flat and watching a lone antelope run off, we made for Catnip Reservoir.

As soon as I saw the place I wanted to stop.  That lasted until I realized someone else was camped there. Since I doubt that they would have appreciated visitors, I decided to just follow some dirt roads back to the highway and head for home.  I'm not sad that I took a long detour through Sheldon. It was a fantastic drive and I was recharged by the time we hit the pavement once more.  But some day I'm going back to Catnip.

The desert was blooming its heart out up on the high flats.  This is just one of the many pictures of flowers that I took.

Though the antelope I saw on the refuge were very far off and moving fast, these deer weren't too worried about the pickup.

This is my favorite picture of the dogs from the whole trip.  By this point we had been on Sheldon for about three hours and I was hoping that the road we were on would not peter out, but I figured that the worst that could happen was that we'd have to backtrack.  The dogs enjoyed the unfettered freedom to run for a while.

After a week on my own with no one else making decisions, I realized that I did, too, and that was enough.  We made it to Lakeview a few hours later, visited with Mom and Dad, and rolled into Klamath before midnight.  It had been a 17 hour day of driving, but it was worth it.